


Six and a Billion Times

by allegoricalrose (SilentStars)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1852369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentStars/pseuds/allegoricalrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt "best friends" from the doctorwhofest 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six and a Billion Times

_Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. “Pooh!” he whispered. “Yes, Piglet?” “Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw. “I just wanted to be sure of you.”_ ~A.A. Milne

 

The first time she overheard him utter the phrase, it was through tight lips and a clenched jaw and she didn’t quite believe it: “She’s my best mate, Jack. That’s all. Leave it.” The Captain had snorted in response,”And that’s enough?” but he didn’t take the bait, turning away with an exasperated sigh to fiddle with the controls on his ship.

And it was enough, back then, overwhelmingly enough that he considered her his best friend or at least that he’d chosen that expression to explain things to their new travelling buddy. She’d described the Doctor using similar phraseology, usually in defense of their relationship to her friends and family, but never to his face. The words felt thick and unwieldy on her tongue and she knew she couldn’t speak them aloud to the Doctor himself; they were whispers, childish hopes and presumptuous dreams that could only be lessened by being voiced. He was a hero and a martyr, an immortal and a judge, and she was just his transient worshipper or maybe acolyte; who was she to assume any immutable place in the vicissitudes of his hearts?

—

The second time, he mumbled it half-asleep against the door of the TARDIS as they watched the birth of galaxies. The entire universe was at their dangling feet, the whole glorious and terrifying universe, and one clumsy move would send them falling through the abyss.

”We’re best mates, right?”

Her dozy eyelids had flown open, but quickly settled back to rest once she found his hand. “The best,” she whispered back.

”Never really had a best friend before,” he murmurs. “Glad it’s you.”

It was quiet and languorous, that feeling of warmth that spread through her body, and it was without hesitation that she dropped her head onto his sweater-soft shoulder and closed her eyes against the dark.

—

It was through new set of lips that she heard it for the third time, choked out in a broken but insistent voice as he stood over her immobile body. “She’s my best friend; do something!” Hours later, when she was finally able to open her eyes after the alien paralytic was neutralized, he was still standing over her and she was able to feel that he had been stroking her arm the whole time.

"Doctor?" she slurred, her mouth not quite heeding her mind’s orders yet.

"You’re fine," he whispered, still tracing frantic constellations on her arms. "They gave up the antidote. You…you’re okay now."

Her heart was a supernova smothered in snow. Three intrusive words raged through her mind, cycling as if they were caught in a time loop, but she could only bite her lip against their rampage. ”You’re my best friend, too,” she murmured as she closed her eyes again.

—-

The fourth time he said it ice-cold shame was surging through her veins, freezing her limbs and seizing her breath. She had wandered over to a pane of glass overlooking a small antechamber in the beautiful courtesan’s bedchamber. The little queen had returned through the tapestry just a few minutes ago, but apparently the Doctor had already been in Versailles, planning tactics or possible just waiting. Their indistinct words danced together, low lilting tones that made her want to turn away. But she stayed, entranced by this side of the Doctor, a side she hadn’t suspected was possible in his first body and only hopelessly hoped for in this new one. Their voices grew louder and suddenly they were in sight, Reinette clutching the Doctor’s arm and pulling him into the alcove.

She stroked a perfect finger along his cheek. “Who was that girl you sent to warn me?” she asked with practiced innocence.

"Oh, that was Rose," he replied lightly. "We travel together." 

"Are you…romantically involved?" she further enquired, raking her fingers down the back of his neck.

He subtly stepped back from her touch and scratched the back of his neck where her fingers had been. “What we really need to talk about is security. I’ve been all around this palace and haven’t seen—”

”Because she certainly thinks so,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “or wants it to be so. The look in her eyes when she spoke of you… It was desperation; hunger. Completely inappropriate for a child of her standing.”

”That’s not what we’re talking about here, we—” he tried to interrupt, flustered, but she took no heed of him, stepping closer again.

"What you need is a firm hand with your subordinates; you need to remind them of their position. The lust in her eyes… It was vulgar. Piteous, really."

"Oh no, that’s quite enough," he warned, a dangerous flash in his eyes and taking an angry step toward her. "You _will_ refrain from speaking about my best friend that way. And she is _not_ my subordinate; if anything, she’s my superior. Now: back to security.”

He pulled the Frenchwoman out of Rose’s sight and she finally stepped back from the glass, ashamed and embarrassed. Was it really that obvious, that even a complete stranger with whom she talked for no more than three minutes could sense it? He didn’t deny it either; yes, he defended and lauded her, but he didn’t contradict any of Reinette’s accusations either. If she could see it, there was no doubt that he must have noticed. No wonder she felt him pulling away lately: it wouldn’t do to encourage the unwanted, needy affections of his good old platonic mate. She felt flayed and exposed, and with each thump of her heart she felt the pounding of nails into a new interpretation of how he must view her. With awkwardness…pity.

When he leapt through the mirror on a horse only minutes later, she felt no surprise or shock. It was painful that he would choose the quasi-Queen of France even after she had been callously derisive of his so-called best friend, but at the same time she knew that he hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Fixed timelines and all that. Besides, it wasn’t like Rose wanted her dead; she just wished, as she stared blankly at the broken mirror, that the woman’s life hadn’t come at the price of her own, abandoned on a space station with a TARDIS she couldn’t fly.

—-

She was the one who said it next.

He held her hand as the TARDIS dematerialised away from the gingerbread universe, leaving behind a boy she once loved one way and now loved in another and the only version of her father that was still alive. His eyes were downcast and he didn’t meet her gaze when she turned to him, dry tear tracks still evident on her cheeks.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. “There was never any question of me staying there, you know.”

"I know," he muttered to the grating.

"Do you?"

"Well, you have to admit: parallel version of your father… It had to be pretty enticing." He glanced at her now, shuffling his toes along a ridge in the metal.

"I just wanted to see the ‘what ifs’ played out. You know, like you imagine at night: what if I’d done something just a little bit differently? What if I had given up looking for poor Wilson in the Henrik’s basement that night? What if I had taken a chance on something I wanted but was too scared and it turned out magical? What if my father had survived the car crash?"

"I know," he repeated, more tenderly this time. He reached up and brushed away the particles of mascara that had pasted themselves to her skin with the pad of his thumb. "I see those ‘what ifs’ every day, every second. They’re infinite and terrifying." He paused, swallowing. "Sometimes it’s difficult to appreciate the ‘did happens’; to take in the wonders of all the infinitesimally small details that had to be just right to get us to the present."

"Sometimes I wouldn’t mind if a few of those details changed, though." She looked at their hands and bit her lip.

"Of course," he reassured softly. "That’s life. But remember, the future is still unwritten. Those leaps of faith, those moments when you think you can change everything if only you had the courage and then suddenly you do, all at once like a bolt of lightning... Those can still happen."

The silence cracked between them and she felt the pinprick of tiny sparks travel from his fingertips to her toes. She watched his eyes, flickering between hers like he was searching for the answers for some long-lost question in her corneas.

He’s right. The future is plastic and malleable, but it’s also uncertain and unkind. Courage was all fine and dandy, but it made no guarantees; no promises that he wouldn’t leave, or ask her to leave, or that the entire universe would crumble into a pile of dust and they would all tumble into the abyss.

_Never seek to tell thy love / Love that never told can be_

Her sigh was quiet as she pulled him into a rough bear hug. “I wouldn’t leave you, anyway. You’re my best friend. Besides, my mum and family are back here; a parallel version of my dead father who denies my existence and an ex-boyfriend doesn’t exactly trump any of that.”

A shadow passed over his eyes and he blinked twice. He exhaled a long breath, his eyes on the grating again, before he recovered his mental suit of armour. Her heart ached suddenly, as if in regret of a missed opportunity that would never even be possible in the first place.

"Alright, Rose Tyler," he drawled with a smile that almost reached his eyes, "we’ve got an important pit stop to make before our next life or death adventure."

—-

It takes half a dozen times and a black hole stronger than the fear in their hearts before she interprets the phrase correctly.

Her legs are linked through his, her fingers splayed on his chest like a blanket. His breathing is soft, rhythmic against the palm of her hand and his eyes are closed. There’s a sheen of sweat across his forehead and several strands of hair along this hairline have curled up in the moisture.

She can’t scoot any closer than she is already but she tries, burying her face in his shoulder blade and rotating her hips to increase their skin contact. He begins to stir, licking his lips and stretching his leg muscles. She can see the second he remembers where he is, where she is, spreading across his face like a lazy wave on the shoreline. Blinking his eyes a few times, he turns his head from the pillow to look down at her.

"Promise me I’ll always wake up to this," he murmurs.

"Forever," she promises but her heart breaks at futility of the word. Needing to lighten the mood, she changes the subject. "Think our friendship is ruined?" she asked with a cheeky grin, her tongue greeting him between her teeth.

"We’ll always be best friends," he replies, surprisingly confused by her question, "You’ve been my best friend for ages now: why should this change that? You know, right? That you’re my best friend?"

And that’s when she _does_ know, recognises the multitude his words contain with a bolt and a flash. Words have power and he’s never used the term lightly or offhandedly. It’s love; love is infused in those two syllables, steady and unwavering, new and ancient. He’s been telling her since the birth of the galaxies and he’ll tell her until the end of time.

"You’re my best friend too," she says, moving her hips to fully cover his and reaching up to tell _her_ love through the opening in his lips.

 

—-

_a/n: Quote is from William Blake’s ‘Never Seek to Tell thy Love’_


End file.
